


A Girl and His Dog

by ysse_writes



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Ghosts, M/M, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-14
Updated: 2011-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:00:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ysse_writes/pseuds/ysse_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris is haunted by the ghost of a little girl that only Lance can see.</p><p>Written for deliberatehips, for the 2005 Don We Now Our Gay Apparel story exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Girl and His Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not know any of these people, ghosts, or dogs. All of this is made up.

Lance first sees her in Portland, in that vague corner-of-the-eye way, in the middle of a costume change. A small child, playing among the discarded costumes that hadn’t yet been put away. Five dressers and two seamstresses have suddenly come down with the flu and everything is even more chaotic than usual. He wonders what the child is doing there, to whom she belongs, but no one seems to think she shouldn’t be there. Perhaps, he thinks, one of the last minute temps they hired to help fill the lack had been unable to find a babysitter; Anthony really isn’t that strict, as far as that kind of thing goes.

Being pulled out of and pushed into costumes, a flurry of zippers and retouches, Lance can’t manage a good look at the child or the opportunity to ask the dressers about her. She seems well behaved, fairly solemn, playing quietly with her doll, seemingly unaware of the flurry of activity around her. Then they’re pushing him back through the curtains for the next number and there’s only the lights and the guys and the music and the applause.

 

 

He sees her next in the Quiet Room, after the first show. Lance finds her sitting among the giant beanbags, somberly watching the crew people carrying in Joey’s new leather sofa. He is puzzled, and somewhat annoyed, at the discovery, wondering how she could have gotten in. Backstage was one thing, but the Quiet Room was reserved for the group, one of their few opportunities for privacy. No one else was allowed there, it was off-limits to visitors and the media. Even the people who were responsible for keeping the wet bar stocked and the snack table full to overflowing had strict instructions to spend the least time possible in there, and to never be present when group was around. Unless, of course, one of them needed something. Despite that, it is her actual presence, rather than the breach of security, that disturbs him. She can’t be more than three years old, four at the most, and backstage during a concert is no place for such a small child, especially at such an hour and unsupervised. He is determined to speak to someone about it this time.

He walks towards the girl to try and find out what he can - surely the child will at least know her parents’ name? He wishes Chris would hurry up and join him; Chris is far better at dealing with young children than he.

In the meantime, the crew people have succeeded in placing the new sofa in Joey’s preferred corner and are carrying the old sofa out. Its irregular shape and satin upholstery makes it awkward to grip properly, and, as is usual in such furniture transports, one of the crew is moving backward, counting on the instructions of his companions to guide his movements. Lance, who can see the girl as plain as day, assumes that they can, as well, so he is surprised when, while maneuvering to avoid a coffee table, the sudden shift in their trajectory puts them on an immediate collision course with the child. Lance opens his mouth to call out to them, tell them to stop, moving faster to intercept them, but isn’t quite fast enough. They shift again, and the lead man’s foot lands squarely on the child’s outstretched legs.

And passes through.

Lance swallows back the shout that had risen to his throat and settles for a gasp. The workmen look at him curiously but are actually too used to strange behavior from all of them to comment, and continue on. Lance stills the urge to stop them, demand if they see something, the way people do in cheesy horror movies.

The child continues to play, oblivious to anything.

Left alone with the child, Lance is more curious than frightened. He has an aunt who claims to see ghosts and he remembers how, as a child, he had been fascinated by her stories. His father says ghosts aren’t real, but Lance believes in the soul, in the spirit, and has never quite understood how a person can believe in one and not the other.

He squats down beside the child to see if she will respond, will at least look at him, acknowledge his presence. She doesn’t. He waits a heartbeat more and then indulges his curiosity, reaching out towards the girl.

He doesn’t know what to expect, but he expects something - coldness, maybe, a faint misty sensation, a sense of resistance. Instead, there’s nothing. And again, the child plays on, as if he is the one who is not there instead of the other way around.

His aunt is right, you can’t touch a ghost.

The door opens, and Lance turns to look, instinctively. Joey expresses delight at finding his new sofa, Chris high-fives Justin and JC claims the first nap rights. They stop to stare at Lance, and Chris teasingly demands to know what he was doing squatting in the middle of the floor with his clothes on. Lance smiles back, but doesn't answer. Chris flirts with everyone and Lance knows better than to take offense or take it seriously. When he looks back, the girl is gone.

Anthony sticks his head inside the still-open door to inform them that it is ten minutes till the second curtain figuratively rises and Lance runs to the rest room, which is why he had rushed here in the first place.

Later, he wonders who she is, who she had been, how she came to be there. He wishes he had time to ask around, do a little investigating, but they have to be in Tacoma the next day and he doubts he will have the chance. The ghost child had been wearing a Blues Clues jumper, carrying a Powerpuff doll (the green one-- Blossom?) so it can’t have been that long ago, her passing. So young, he thinks, feeling sorrow stir within him. Briahna will have her first birthday soon, and he imagines how devastated he would be if anything happened to her. He wonders what could have happened, why she is here, why she is not at rest. Dark hair, dark eyes, and he wonders if in life she had been that pale, her skin that luminous, or if that was purely the domain of the spirit world. One never hears of tanned ghosts, after all.

Aunt Connie will be thrilled, he thinks, next reunion, when he will have a story for her, for once.

 

 

He is surprised to see the girl again, later, as he walks from his bus to Joey’s to call him for breakfast. Part of him is happy to see her, he’s been thinking of her constantly. He had been thinking of going back to the concert hall with his aunt once the tour was over, just to see if they could find out who she was, who she had been.

He’s heard enough of Aunt Connie’s stories to know that while most ghosts were tied to places, a few chose to attach themselves to people.

Someone, it seems, is being haunted.

In San Francisco, he catches a glimpse of her hiding under the snack table, then again hovering behind the sofa as Joey freaks out while talking to Kelly on the telephone. Kelly and Bree had been involved in an almost-accident and, while everything had turned out fine, they’re still all shaken by what could have been. The girl clings to her doll, as if she is also upset. When Chris comes in and sits beside them to add his own assurances, Lance watches with growing alarm as the girl walks around the sofa to stand in front of Chris and Joey, then climbs onto Chris’ lap and lays her head on his shoulder.

Everybody knows you can’t touch a ghost.

But, Lance now learns, a ghost can touch _you_.

 

 

Oakland, Sacramento, San Jose, and the ghost appears with increasing frequency. Lance doesn’t know how to begin to talk to Chris about it, how to ask. Everybody thinks Aunt Connie is crazy, and she’s one of the smartest people Lance knows. And Chris is too ready to mock the smallest thing, too adept at making Lance feel like a backward country bumpkin. Most times Chris isn't being purposely mean-spirited. It's just that Lance is an easy target. He’s too sensitive, his emotions too raw where Chris is concerned. It’s far too easy to draw blood.

In contrast, Chris seems far too obdurate, and not only where Lance is concerned. He doesn’t seem to see the things Lance sees, doesn’t feel the girl clinging to his waist at the meet and greets, doesn’t hear her singing quietly to her doll during an interview for a local newspaper. In San Diego, she naps in Chris’ bus while Justin has his hair cut, as Chris holds his hands for moral support and talks aloud of getting an afro made from Justin’s discarded curls or selling them on eBay.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" he asks Joey, as they walk back from the arena to their buses after a performance.

"I’m Catholic, man," Joey answers, "we believe in everything." It’s not the first time Lance has heard that statement from Joey. He’s heard, more than a few times, the story of how a writer on the TV show seaQuest had stolen that line from Joey, back when he still worked in Universal.

"Why do you think they exist? I mean, do you think they're really the souls of dead people, or another thing entirely?"

Joey shoots Lance a curious look. "You talking about ghosts or about demons? You’re the one who went to Bible school, man, wouldn’t you know more about that? Us, mostly we just believe in Big Red, and really, that’s not a subject that you wanna get into in the dark, in the middle of the night."

By Anaheim Lance is starting to get used to it, to her constant presence. Aunt Connie has lived with ghosts all her life and it doesn’t seem to have done her any harm, beyond the occasional uncharitable gossip at family reunions. And the girl is so little, he doesn't like to think of her being alone. It's hard to think of her a ghost. He realizes that it’s silly to feel that way but he can’t help it. Most of the time he only remembers that she's a little girl who died before her time, who's been alone for what probably seems like forever. Who could blame her for being lonely?

 

 

He probably wouldn’t even have noticed it, if Justin didn’t point it out. "Man," Justin says as Chris attempts to pull him into a headlock. "Are you sick? You feel hot, dude."

Chris shakes his head, doubling his efforts, but without much success. "I’m super freaking hot, dude, don'cha read the teen mags?"

JC pipes up. "You have been looking a bit peaked, man," he adds. "Haven’t you been sleeping?" It’s almost a joke-- they are on tour, with crazy-ass schedules, and the tour buses, despite their relative luxury, do not always make for comfortable sleeping. It isn’t unusual for them to sleep badly, to feel the stress. They can afford individual buses now, with individual king-sized beds, but it doesn’t seem to have helped much. Lance understands Joey needs his own bus now, he needs the space for Kelly and Bree. He just misses the time when they were all living in each other’s pockets. The guys are still there, their buses are always parked near each other, but still, it’s just not the same.

Chris is pale, has always been pale, but now there’s a sudden strange luminosity to his skin, in stark contrast to the startling brightness of his eyes. It’s only now that Lance notices how thin Chris has actually become in the last couple of weeks, how low his energy level has been. It hasn’t been that long since the breakup with Dani and Lance had simply assumed that Chris is still depressed and missing her. It was why Chris agreed to the individual buses in the first place - he needed space to mope, far away from Justin’s giddy infatuation with Britney. But now Lance watches the girl embrace Chris-- wrapping her arms around Chris’ legs-- sees the minute shiver, the sudden weakness that passes through Chris’ limbs, and he makes the connection.

You can’t hurt a ghost, not even if you accidentally step on her or run her over with a forklift.

But, it turns out, a ghost can hurt _you_.

 

 

When he’s worried, JC is braver and more persistent than Lance. JC is always braver, in fact, when it comes to Chris. Lance is far too conscious, too cautious, too consumed. JC makes Chris go see the tour medic, who pronounces that Chris is running a low-grade fever but can’t find anything else that could be wrong except exhaustion. He gives Chris a shot and a sedative and sends him off to bed.

It is fortunate they don’t have a show the next day as Chris looks so much worse in the morning. So bad, in fact, that JC insists he go back to bed to rest. Joey already has plans for his day off, but JC and Justin volunteer to pick up Busta, who is being flown in as Chris’ roommates are going on a trip and Chris doesn’t like having his dogs in kennels. Chris is against any restrictions of any kind, won’t even put a leash on Busta unless absolutely necessary. Lance, by default, is left to watch Chris, who is even more of a handful when he’s sick. He doesn’t mind, although he knows JC and Justin didn’t volunteer to pick up Busta purely out of altruism.

Chris hates being sick, hates being cared for. While he incessantly craves attention and will go to great lengths to get it, he is paradoxically loath to be fussed over. Chris constantly mistakes kindness with charity and charity with pity and is far too used to being the strong and independent older brother, the one who cares for everyone else.

Lance makes sure Chris gets back to his bus and into his bed safely. They pass the little girl looking through a picture book in the lounge seat, who spares them an upward glance before going back to her book. Lance thinks she actually sees him now, actually acknowledges his presence. He can feel her watching as makes up a breakfast tray for Chris.

Chris just wants to sleep, he says, though Lance at least succeeds in coaxing him to drink some juice.

"The Doc gave you something to make you sleep," Lance says. "Didn’t it work? You look like shit, man, like you haven’t slept at all."

Eyes still closed, Chris sighs, tiredly. He looks exhausted, like the rest had done him more harm than good. That is entirely possible-- through the years they’d all developed the skill of postponing illnesses and body pain until they had the time to stop and feel the energy to deal with them. But Chris is hiding something, Lance can tell by the way he’s not answering.

"Chris--"

"I did," Chris says, "I slept the entire night, okay?" Irritation laces his voice, like maybe he is answering just to shut Lance up, and Lance wonders if he should just do that and let Chris sleep. But he just waits patiently. Chris sighs again, then turns to him. "I sleep," he says again, "I just... I keep having these dreams and waking up even more exhausted."

"Nightmares?" Lance asks.

Chris shakes his head. "No, just... It’s like I’m actually awake and doing stuff. They’re so real y’know?"

Lance does know. He has dreams like that, dreams so real he can almost taste the sweat on Chris skin, feel the burn of beard stubble when they kiss.

"Recurring ones?" He knows about those, too, knows how they can consume a man, eating at his insides. There’s a dream he has, just walking on the beach, on and on, and just when he starts getting tired he finds his way back to his house. When he opens the door he finds Chris in the kitchen, making breakfast. A dog nips at his feet--not Busta--and he wakes up.

JC thinks dreams are a means of creative expression, Joey thinks dreams are representations of guilt and Justin’s dreams are mostly purely hormonal excretions. Lance goes for the Jiminy Cricket philosophy. Wildest wishes, darkest fears and glimpses into Heaven and Hell.

Recurring dreams aren’t easy, aren’t pretty, but if there’s another reason for Chris’ exhaustion, a way to explain away his pallor, then Lance will take it.

"Not exactly." Chris closes his eyes. "They’re all different, I’m doing different things, but..."

"But?" Lance prods, gently.

"There’s this girl."

Lance goes still, as if a sheet of ice has suddenly fallen inside him to ensure that the fear and panic rising within him will not reach and reflect on his face. "Let me guess," he says, lightly. "Tall, blonde and buxomy?"

Chris grins despite his obvious tiredness. "No," he says. "Tiny. Dark and tiny."

The little girl is now sitting on the floor beside Chris’ bed, right below where Lance is sitting, watching them both with somber dark eyes.

Lance tries to ignore her. "Tell me."

Chris still has his eyes closed, his voice far away and reminiscent. "She looks like me, man," he says, and Lance almost nods, because she does, the same coloring, the same bone structure, except Lance can’t imagine Chris being so quiet and still. "And we, I don’t know, we just do stuff. I read to her, most times. Sometimes, we take walks. Mostly, we do things me and my sisters used to do, when we were young. Boring ordinary stuff we did while waiting for my Mom to come home from work."

"She reminds you of your sisters?" Lance asks. "You must be missing them."

"No," Chris says. "I mean, I do miss them, but..." He raises one hand to rub tiredly at the bridge of his nose. "It’s like she is my sister, at least that’s how it used to feel like."

"But not anymore?" Lance knows what Chris feels for his sisters, what he is willing to do, willing to give up for them. Chris adores his sisters, would do anything for them. He hopes Chris doesn’t feel the same way about the child, hopes that Chris is starting to feel what the child in his dreams is doing to him, costing him.

"Not really." Chris’ voice is getting slower, softer, and Lance knows he should let Chris rest. But he presses on, the information he is after is far too important.

"Not really how?"

Chris shrugs, minutely. "Maybe it’s hearing all of Joey’s stories about Bree. Or maybe I’m just getting old and the biological clock is ticking. But lately, it’s more like Lily’s my... my daughter."

"Lily?" he asks.

"That’s what I call her," Chris explains. "In the dreams I call her Lily."

The child --Lily?-- smiles for the first time and her innocent face is more frightening than anything Lance has ever seen. She leans forward, making a soft questioning sound, and Lance instinctively moves back.

Half-asleep, Chris shifts, the hand rubbing at his forehead falling away, landing on top of the child’s hand.

And closing around it.

Lily’s smile grows wider and she scrambles up the bed to lie beside Chris.

And Lance learns one more thing about ghosts that his Aunt Connie never taught him.

You can’t touch a ghost.

Unless it lets you.

 

 

Lance leaves Chris sleeping, Lily curled up beside him, her head on his shoulder. It would be a sweet sight if it weren’t so horrific.

He places a call he has put off for far too long. In short shaky sentences, he explains the situation, and Aunt Connie gives him the name of a friend in Phoenix.

As he places the phone back in the receiver, he hears Justin and JC returning, hears Busta barking excitedly. This will be good for Chris, he thinks, Busta has always been able to snap Chris out of any funk.

Busta escapes from Justin’s hold as soon as the bus doors open and takes a running leap towards Chris’ bed. JC and Justin run after him, grinning, excited to see the reunion of beloved dog and loving owner.

So everyone is completely baffled when Busta starts barking his head off. Busta has always been a buzzing bundle of energy, but he's also always been fairly well behaved--far more well behaved than his owner, for example--and they have never seen him act this way. The noise wakes up Chris, who sits up slowly, blinking blearily at them.

Chris perks up at seeing Busta, instinctively opening his arms. "Busta! Hey, boy!" Busta only barks louder. JC and Justin are convinced that Busta has gone crazy, but Lance can see Lily half-hiding behind Chris, holding on to his arm tightly, almost possessively.

Even Chris is alarmed now. "What’s wrong with you, boy? Don’t you know me? I don’t smell that bad, do I?" Only Chris, thinks Lance, can still make jokes when he’s half-dead on his feet and facing a hysterical animal. Chris tries to leave the bed, to go to his dog, but Lily tightens her grip and somehow, unknowingly, Chris stops, obeys.

That’s when Busta starts growling. Lowly, menacingly, hairs bristling in fury. Lily inches closer to Chris, hiding her face behind his shoulder. Justin is shouting for Chris to stay away, worried that Busta is going to attack. JC keeps up a nonstop stream of babble, alternately trying to calm Busta down and wondering if they should call for animal control. Lance feels like he is frozen, waiting for some catastrophe to fall. He can’t imagine what is going to happen next.

Busta keeps growling and Chris keeps trying to talk his pet into standing down. Somehow, he manages to shake off Lily’s hold, concern for his pet fueling his strength, and goes down on his knees on the floor, beseeching his pet to calm down.

Lily screams, high, petulant, but only Lance hears, and even then, barely. Busta gives one high warning bark before launching himself at Chris. Or so JC and Justin think, shouting for Chris to move out of the way. They needn’t have, Lance sees that it is Lily that Busta is jumping at.

Lily disappears, perhaps instinctively.

As if a switch has been turned off, Busta makes a turnaround in less than a second, launching himself into Chris’ arms, licking his face. Chris laughs in relief, hugging his pet, and Lance takes a breath in what feels like forever.

Crisis over, JC and Justin go over to Chris to share in the petting. Lance makes a mental note to buy Busta a doggie treat at the next stop.

Joey returns from his trip to Disneyland with Kelly and Bree and teases Justin and JC about 'the womb that birthed them.' He regales them with stories of the rides and the attention, and Lance can almost believe that everything is okay and normal again.

 

 

Busta stays with Chris the entire night, and in the morning Chris looks better, has far more color and most of his energy back. JC, Justin and Joey are convinced that it was simply a bug, compounded by lingering depression.

Lance doesn’t know what to expect from his Aunt Connie’s friend Sita, but is relieved to find a somewhat middle-aged woman in jeans and a Gap t-shirt, and what seems to be once-pink Chuck Taylors. He’s doubly relieved that she doesn’t try to hug him like most of his relatives’ friends do upon meeting him. Instead, she makes him stand still as she ‘scans’ him, saying she promised his aunt he would do so. When she’s done she smiles at him, pats his cheek--which is so much worse than her trying to hug him, as far as he’s concerned. "Okay," she says, "show me this ghost."

Lance only half-believes in psychics, the way some adults 'believe' in elves and fairies, in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, because they're fun and make great theme parties. JC is the great believer. The story of the origin of the star in the *NSYNC logo was known by all. Still, Lance can’t help but ask.

"What did you see?"

She grins up at him. "Won’t do you much good to know in advance, dear." She says ‘dear’ the exact same way Aunt Connie does, and Lance wonders if that’s genetic to all aunts everywhere. "But bottom-line? You’re going to be okay." She stops, brow furrowed. "But I’m not so sure about your friend."

They’re outside the Quiet Room. Lance waves away the security, opening the door for Sita. He sees Chris inside, practically asleep on the sofa, and the girl now sitting beside him, her head cradled on his lap. His hand is on top of her head, unconsciously stroking the dark strands. Busta is nowhere to be found.

"You can see her?" Sita asks, softly. "She’s here, isn’t she?"

Lance is surprised. "You can’t? But I thought..."

Lance has a feeling she would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so dire. "No, dear, I can’t. I can feel she’s here, but I’m not like you. I’m not tied into this. I have to find my own way in." She takes his hand, closes her eyes. She makes a small sound, equal parts sorrow, worry and understanding.

Lily looks at them. "Go away," she says, distinctly, her childish voice annoyed and stubborn. Chris stirs, but doesn’t waken. Lance wonders desperately where Busta is.

Sita opens her eyes. "You don’t belong here," she says. Lance doesn’t know if she can see Lily now, but she’s looking straight at where the child is sitting. Lily ignores her, wrapping her arms around Chris’ legs. Chris makes a small sound in his sleep, gives a slight shiver. "You’re hurting him," Sita continues. "I know you don’t mean to, but you are."

Lily frowns, her little mouth becoming pinched. She holds on tighter and turns away from them.

"You’re making a lot of people worry and sad," Sita continues. "You’re a good child, you don’t want to hurt him."

Lily ignores them. Lance waits for Sita to say something else, to actually do something, but she just stands and stares at Chris. Lance wonders if she is scanning him, too.

After a while she sighs, then pulls Lance away. Lance resists, but she’s far stronger than she looks. He wonders, too, if this is what Chris feels with Lily: being forced to go along, unable to resist despite himself.

Sita asks if there is somewhere they can talk privately, and Lance leads the way to his bus. Sita is quiet the entire way. Once there, he heats up some water for tea and waits patiently for her to start talking. The perils of being raised by Southern ladies, he thinks, self-mockingly.

"So small," she finally murmurs, thoughtfully. "I’ve never seen one that young with that much focus. She couldn’t have been more than three. Four at the most." She sighs, ruefully, thoughtfully. "You say it’s only been days since you first saw her? So fast." She takes a sip of her tea, her brow still furrowed thoughtfully. "You said he has dreams," she says. "He thinks she’s one of his sisters?"

"He said in the beginning he thought she was his sister," Lance confirms, "but now he says it more like she’s his daughter."

The furrow in her brow deepens. "That’s not good," she says. "It means her hold is getting stronger, he’s feeling more responsibility towards her."

"Why is she here?" Lance thinks he knows already, but has to ask anyway. "What does she want?"

"She wants what every child wants,” Sita answers, simply, calmly. "She wants to be loved. To be safe. To not be alone." She looks at Lance somberly. "Your friend looks like her. I think it’s why she chose him."

"She can’t have Chris," Lance says.

Sita takes another sip of her tea. "She is four years old," she replies, reasonably. "Or she was when she died. Have you ever tried to reason with a four-year-old?"

"Isn’t there a way to make her just... go?"

Sita does laugh then. "Exorcism?" she asks. "Send her soul to hell, where it rightly belongs?"

Lance is horrified. Lance considers himself a religious man, had sat through many a sermon on the Revelations and the fires of Hell. The idea of that lovely child suffering through the horrors Pastor White had described in graphic detail turned his stomach. But... Chris is in danger, he knows this in his bones. "If that’s..." He swallows hard, feeling bile rise up his throat. "If that’s what it takes."

"You would do that?" she asks, curiously, her sharp eyes intent. "For him?" Lance nods, shakily, and she puts down her tea and takes his hand. "Lance," she says, kindly, "exorcisms, the kind you speak of, are a social construct. They are based on the beliefs of the living person, the spiritual bindings, so to speak, that tie the soul to the life it had led. You can’t invoke rules if the person--or soul--involved has no concept of them." She smiles again, ruefully. "She's a child. All she knows is what she wants."

"So there’s nothing we can do?" he asks. "What do we do?"

"You help him be strong," she answers. "You keep him grounded here. You hold on to him and you don’t let him go. Not even if he wants to."

"If he wants to?" Lance asks. "He... He may want to?"

"You said it yourself, he thinks she’s his daughter. He feels responsible for her, wants to take care of her, protect her. In short, he feels tied to her." She hesitates, then continues on. "People who... succumb... to these kinds of events, it’s usually because they feel detached from the living world, or because they feel like nothing ties them to this world."

"But he has us!" protests Lance. "He has his family, his mother and his sisters." Even as he says it, he remembers how depressed Chris has been about Dani’s abandonment, about the individual buses.

"And he thinks she’s his daughter,” she says, again. “Something tells me he felt abandoned as a child. Do you think he would abandon a child, his child?"

Never, Lance knows.

"So what do we do?" he asks again, desperately.

Her hands tighten around his. "You think you’re not ready," she says, softly, "but you are. You have to be. There’s a reason you can see her--you’re tied into this." She places a hand on his cheek, looks directly into his eyes. "You can’t be afraid of this anymore, or else you really are going to lose him, with no way to get him back."

Lance swallows. "He--"

"You’re tied into this," she says, again. "Tied to him. You have to be brave. I believe in you. You’ll find a way." She lets go of his hand and stands up. "The dog, keep him close," she says. Lance doesn’t remember mentioning Busta. "Animals have a better grasp of these things than most humans. If you’re going to fight her then you need all the help you can get."

"Can’t you give me more than that?" he asks.

"Give him a reason to stay," she answers, simply. "And give him the strength to fight. That's all you can do. You wait for him to choose you."

He usually dreads it when people try to hug him, but this time he leans into her, both afraid and grateful. "What if I do everything and he still wants to go with her more than he wants to stay with me? With us?"

"Have you ever seen toddler throw a tantrum, Lance?"

Lance shakes his head. Well, not up close, anyway. Mostly just TV stuff, a couple of times in the supermarket.

"You should have paid more attention. A child throwing a tantrum can be loud and violent, even destructive. But it’s still up to the adult whether or not to give in. At the end, it’s all a matter of outlasting the wave, of holding your ground." She pats his cheek, then picks up her bag to leave. "She’s a child, Lance," she reminds him. "You’re an adult. Trust yourself, trust that you can reach him. You have more power than you think."

 

 

They find Busta trapped behind some metal shelving that had fallen to form a cage around him. He is unhurt but frantic, running towards Chris’ bus the moment they lift the shelves off him. Lance breathes a quiet sigh of relief. With Busta around he feels confident enough to leave Chris alone for a while. He goes back to his bus and packs his bags and Dirk, drags them over to Chris’ bus.

Chris raises an eyebrow. "Please don’t tell me you don’t have enough storage space in your bus, man," he says. Busta is sleeping at his feet, and Lily is nowhere to be seen. Chris looks tired, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s going to keel over at any moment anymore.

"I’m moving in with you," he says, matter-of-factly, placing Dirk’s cage on top of the dining table.

Chris inclines his head curiously. "What, didja draw the short straw or something? I’m fine, really, I am. I don’t need taking care of."

Lance looks directly at him. "I don’t like this individual bus idea," he tells Chris. "I’m lonely."

It takes a while for Chris to answer. "Joe needs the space for Kelly and Bree," he nods, slowly. "Justin needs it for Brit and JC has Bobbie. Guess I win by default."

Lance narrows his eyes. "That’s an interesting thing to say," he says. He stands in front of Chris. "I come here because I lost at drawing straws, but you get me because you won by default? I’m a prize but you’re, what, a penalty? What if I told you it was actually the other way around?"

Chris blinks. "What? What’re you talking about?"

Lance shakes his head. "I’m staying here, okay? I want to stay here. With you."

Chris looks confused. "Umm, you do know there’s only one bed?"

"It wont be the first time we’ve shared a bed," Lance says, lightly.

Chris doesn’t smile. "It’s not the same thing," he says.

Lance gathers every iota of courage he has. "I know," he replies, and leans down to kiss Chris. A heartbeat later, Chris kisses him back.

Chris’ bus is a mess, despite the cleaning crew that comes in regularly. A dying light bulb keeps flickering over the unmade bed, the sheets are the most horrible shade of eggplant and Dirk keeps rattling in his cage, unused to his environment.

Lance couldn't care less.

Lance thinks he can give up silk sheets and candlelight forever, if in exchange he can have Chris’ skin, the music of his gasps and breathing, the dizzying contrasts of his lovemaking -rough beard stubble and silken lips, hard penetration and gentle invasions, surrender and conquest, offering and taking. Chris’ hands at the small of his back are more erotic than the best blowjob he’s ever had. So far, that is.

Afterwards, they lie together, sated and sleepy. Lance has never felt this way. Like he could break at any moment, shatter into a million teardrops, like some gigantic CG crystal explosion.

"Chris?" Lance whispers.

"Hmmm?" Chris is already half-asleep.

"Dream of me, okay?" Lance says.

 

 

When Lance opens his eyes, Chris is still sleeping and Lily is standing at the foot of the bed, staring impassively at them. With Busta lying guard between them Lance feels brave enough to try and address the child. "You can’t have him," he says, quietly. "You can’t. You don’t need him as much as we do." He shakes his head, correcting that. "You don’t need him as much as I do."

Lance realizes that up until that moment he has never really felt Lily’s full attention upon him. It’s almost like a blow, the wave of energy that washes through him, making his limbs weak. It might be a mistake, challenging her so directly, but he refuses to back down now. "I won’t let you have him." He reaches down to pet Busta’s fur. "We won’t let you have him," he repeats, his voice stronger. The child pouts at him, then disappears.

Busta stirs beneath his hand. So small, so brave. Lance feels almost ashamed, that the ghost of a four-year-old child and a tiny pug can show their emotions so simply, directly, while he, an adult, can't even manage to tell Chris his real feelings. He resolves to do better.

 

 

The day passes fairly without incident, the show a smashing success. Lance hopes that audience doesn’t pay any more attention than usual to the glances that he and Chris exchange, the smiles, the shade-too-long touches.

Sparks literally fly just as they make their final bow and the crowd goes wild at what they think is a spectacular pyro display. It’s only after the show that Anthony calls an emergency meeting. Somehow, without anyone having any idea how, a good half dozen electric cables had been chewed through by some small animal, causing them to short out. Anthony’s current assistant throws a nervous glance at Busta, but isn’t quite brave enough to make a direct accusation. Busta has been known to chew through furniture in his time, but Lance knows it couldn’t have been him as he had been with Lance and Chris all night.

Grimly, Anthony explains what a close call they’ve all had, how the explosion could have happened in the middle of the show and people could have been seriously hurt. They’re all admonished to be more careful and alert, and Anthony makes a quick mention about how everyone who has animals should try to keep them under control. Lance reaches over Chris and pets Busta. He almost suspects that Lily is the one responsible but can’t quite wrap around the idea that a four-year-old, ghost or not, could not only manage to damage industrial cables, but make it look like it was done by a small animal, more specifically Busta.

That night, Chris and Lance and half the tour crew are awakened when Busta begins to bark hysterically in the middle of the night and won’t quiet down despite Chris' admonishments. Lance doesn’t see anything, but he knows by now that just because he can’t see Lily doesn’t mean she isn’t there, hovering. He can’t imagine why else Busta would be barking non-stop for two straight hours. It’s almost light when the noise finally stops, Busta conking out from sheer exhaustion. Lance still can’t sleep, though, he’s worried that Lily will appear and he won’t be able to stop her.

"I wonder what’s wrong with him," Chris says, worriedly. "He’s been acting so strange lately. I think I’ll take him to the vet tomorrow, after the radio thing."

Lance figures it can’t hurt, so he doesn’t say anything. Besides, he still doesn’t know how he’s supposed to tell Chris that his beloved pet is battling the forces of darkness on his behalf. And wow, maybe he should stop voicing over those anime/CG games if he’s starting to think things like ‘battling the forces of darkness.’ Besides, he still thinks it isn’t true anyway. He doesn't really believe Lily to be evil.

_Have you ever seen a child throw a tantrum?_

"Hey," he says, instead. "Tell me about that girl. The one you have the dreams about."

"Lily?" Chris asks. "Or the redhead in the body-stocking?"

Lance pinches Chris in punishment, and the resounding yelp is as high as Busta’s. Poor pup, Lance thinks, he’s probably going to be blamed for that noise, too. "Lily," he says. "Do you still dream about her?"

Chris has to think about it for a moment. "You know, come to think of it, I haven’t dreamt of her much, lately. I mean, I still do, but not so much. And mostly, I just dream I can feel her there, you know, like I know she’s in the next room, or somewhere playing, but we don’t spend so much time together." He sighs, half-jokingly, half-forlornly. "Kids grow up so fast these days."

"Tell me about her," he says, again. "What’s she like?"

Chris’ stories are just this side shy of absolutely wonderful, and Lance wishes he could see the child Chris speaks of, could have met Lily while she was still alive. According to Chris she’s sweet and smart, their time together is always filled with fun and laughter. His description is nothing like the somber child Lance has come to know. "She’s so brave, Lance," he adds, "she doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything. Except maybe Bart Simpson. And elevators. She absolutely refuses to get into one. Oh, and purple dinosaurs. But I can’t blame her for that one."

Lance laughs at the idea that someone could be afraid of Bart Simpson. "Bart?" he asks.

"I think it’s the hair, dude," Chris says. "We were at a music store one time and she saw a picture of me back when I had the braids and she freaked out. Guess she’s way too young to appreciate my sharp sense of fashion. Which is strange, since she thinks my FuMan stuff are cool."

Chris goes on to tell other stories, and Lance falls asleep to the sound of Chris’ voice, in Chris’ arms. His last thought is, _This. This is what she wants. This is what I’m taking away from her._

He understands completely why she's upset and he’s almost sorry.

He holds on tighter.

Almost, but not quite.

 

 

The next few days are fairly uneventful. Things happen, but mostly just minor inconveniences. A few small accidents, a few destroyed costumes, but nothing out of the extraordinary or overly suspicious. Lance is starting to doubt that Lily even has anything to do with any of it. Every so often Busta explodes into wild barking or low growling and it’s Lance’s cue to go find Chris, but he continues to find no sign of Lily. Chris seems completely recovered. He's as irrepressible as ever he seems genuinely happy. So is Lance. He is starting to believe that the worst is over, that Sita was right and all he needed to do was fight.

When the call from Moscow comes regarding his medical exams, Lance doesn’t exactly want to go, but Chris urges him to, saying it’s only a few days and he needs to spend time with the J’s anyway, especially Justin, who has been pouting about the time Chris has been spending with Lance and whose relationship with Britney is suddenly and disastrously in trouble. Chris seems thrilled that Justin has time for him again, and Lance knows the space deal is a one in a lifetime thing, that Moscow is just looking for an excuse to pronounce to the world that he’s not worthy of going up. When his father shows up to accompany him to Russia, he knows he has to go. He makes Joey promise to keep an eye on Chris and Busta, to make sure that Chris is never left alone and that Busta is always with him.

Joey has been his best friend forever and never asks any questions when Lance asks him for favors, no matter how weird, and agrees readily.

Lance calls Chris at least twice a day, and Chris always says he’s fine. He even put Busta on the phone, once, just to prove that he was keeping him near. "I tell ya, Bass," he says. "They sure do grow them strange, down South."

"You love me anyway," Lance says, made brave by the fact that no one in the Russian medical team could speak English.

"Well, lot of good that does you all the way in Moscow, don’t it?" Chris replies. "If you were here, you could check out how fine the Kirkpatrick ass is doing in person. So come home soon, dude."

At that moment Lance thinks maybe he won't need the space shuttle to launch himself into space after all.

 

 

His plane runs late and he barely makes it back in time for the Denver concert. Chris envelops him in a tight hug, kissing him right in front of the other guys. Chris looks tired, but happy, and JC complains of how Chris and Justin keep dragging him out to clubs when he should be writing, preparing for the next album, dammit.

After the show, Lance is too bushed to join the rest of the guys as they hit the town, an attempt to cheer up Justin from the pain of his imminently official break-up with Britney. Instead, he goes straight to bed, alone, too tired to analyze the niggling sense that something is missing, something is wrong.

It’s not till the next day that it comes to him. The guys are having a go-cart race when one of the carts suddenly veers off course and Chris almost loses a toe in the resulting collision. Lance catches a glimpse of dark hair among the wreckage and realizes that he hasn’t seen Busta since he arrived.

He pulls Joey to quiet corner. "Where’s Busta?" he demands.

"What?" Joey says. "Oh, Chris sent him home. His roommates are back, and you know how strange Busta's been acting lately. Chris was afraid he’d get himself hurt or something. One time they found him locked in one of the costume trunks. Thank goodness someone heard the barking and banging. Really freaked Chris out. "

"Joey, you promised you’d make sure that Busta stayed with Chris!" Lance protests. "I told you stop them if they tried to send Busta away!"

"Dude," Joey replies, calmly. "I said I wouldn’t let Anthony or Mike or even Johnny take him away, no matter how annoyed they got or how much trouble he got into. But I can’t tell Chris not to send his own dog home, can I? Besides, Chris said Busta has a check up and shots coming up soon, and he didn’t want him traveling so close to the actual date and stressing out."

Lance could shake Joey, he’s so frustrated. "How long ago did he go?" he asks, urgently. "When did he leave?"

Joey shrugs. "I don’t know. A couple of days after you left? Four days ago, maybe? But dude, seriously, it’s okay. Chris calls his roommates everyday to make sure Busta’s okay."

"And how many near-accidents have there been since then?" he asks next.

"Dude, you know how J and Chris are when they get together--"

"How many?" he presses.

"A few," Joey admits. "Okay, maybe more than a few. A couple of lights got loose, almost fell on Chris, and there was that minor explosion in the pyro storage area, but dude--"

Lance is already running to find his celphone.

 

 

Lance places a call to Sita, begs her to meet him for lunch. He must sound near hysterical because she agrees, and Lance spends a fortune to have her flown in to Des Moines. Sita looks very grave when he explains the situation, his suspicions. The term for it, she informs him, is escalation. She agrees: Lily is losing patience. She wants Chris for herself alone.

"What do I do?" he asks again.

She shakes her head. "Lance, I’ve already given you the best advice I can," she says. "Lily is like a virus, she’s attacking him from the inside. There’s no cure. He’ll either succumb or recover. You can’t cure him, he has to cure himself. All you can do is help relieve the symptoms, help him reserve his strength, make it easier for him to fight. It’s his decision, all you can do is help him stay lucid enough to make it. All you can do is give him a choice."

He searches for Lily, but it seems that Lily refuses to show herself to him anymore. Lance feels a hundred times more helpless than he did before. Apparently, seeing a ghost isn't half as frightening as _not_ seeing one. They studied subatomic particles in school, entities so tiny there was no way to observe them physically. The only proof of their existence was their effect on their surroundings. That’s what Lily now seems like to Lance. He can’t see her, can’t stop her, can only watch as Chris again starts to fade and falter before his eyes.

He had thought that holding on would be enough. What used to be a simple tug of war has become a twisted rivalry, and Lance is losing. Lance makes Chris shudder and moan in bed, but Chris shivers from invisible icy touches and Lance can’t seem to do anything to warm him up. He can make Chris laugh and sing when awake, but it’s Lily’s name that Chris mumbles in his sleep. Lance tries to talk to Chris, ask him what else he can do, get him to speak of his dreams, but Chris just looks at him blankly, as if he has no idea what Lance is talking about.

Every night, after Chris falls asleep, Lance talks out loud to Lily, hoping she’ll listen, and everything he says feels like a prayer. "Please," he says. "Please don’t take him. I know you’re lonely, but please. It’s not his fault. Please don’t hurt him anymore."

She never answers.

 

 

Chris collapses after the Michigan concert, holding on till the curtains fall to give in to the blackness. Lance’s scream is lost in the screams of the thousands of fans demanding an encore on the other side of the curtain. The tour medic pronounces it to be mere dehydration and exhaustion, and Lance could have killed him right there.

One call from Johnny and Chris is installed in the best private room the nearest hospital has to offer, with none of the fans the wiser. Earlier, JC had promised the Groove Brothers he would drop by their concert and Johnny forces him to go to quell any speculations that may arise. JC does his best, but is so worried that when they urge him onstage, he finds that he has forgotten the words to the song.

Despite the doctors’ assurances, Chris doesn’t wake up the entire night, or the next day.

Or the next.

Experts are called in, JC calls Chris’ Mom, and Lance has never hated the business more as WEG executives meet to discuss the company’s liabilities if the group is unable to continue the tour. Lance calls up Chris’ roommate Ron to ask him to bring Busta up, only to be sheepishly told that Busta is lost, had somehow gotten out of the yard and that they hadn’t found a sign of him despite searching all day. Lance feels even more helpless, unable to think of anything he can do for Chris.

By the third night, the lawyers have progressed to discussing ‘worst-case scenarios, just in case,’ and Lance is prepared to throttle them all. Justin has disappeared to attempt a reconciliation with Britney - his way of dealing - and Joey has gone home to the comfort of his girlfriend and his daughter.

"He can only stay three days."

Lance is startled from his vigil and turns towards the voice. It is JC, looking haggard and defeated. "What?"

"Mythology," JC clarifies, jerkily. "Greek, I think, but I’m not sure." He makes a vague gesture. "I read it somewhere. When the living visit the land of the dead, they can only stay three days. If they can’t find their way back before then, they have to stay. Forever." Tears start in his eyes as he looks out at the night sky. "It’s the third night."

Lance growls. "Dammit, 'C, why would you even say something like that?" he demands.

"Get out," Beverly says, at the same time, her voice shaking with fury. JC looks at her with tearful hurt eyes but she only says it again, more forcefully. "Get out. I don’t want you here, saying shit like that where he can hear." She takes Chris’ limp hand and glares at JC. "My son could wrestle the devil and win, if he set his mind to it. He’ll make it through this, you mark my words." She turns to Chris. "You can do this, baby," she tells Chris, fiercely. "I know you can. You’re not done yet."

JC opens his mouth to protest, then nods and leaves. Beverly looks at Lance, and he wonders if she’s going to demand he leave, too.

"Chris told me," she announces, suddenly, softly.

Told her what? Lance wonders.

"He told me he loves you," she continues. "And that he believes you love him, too. Do you?" Her gaze is direct and Lance can only nod.

"I do," he says, softly. "I have for a long time."

She nods, too. "He also told me you brought him back once before. Thank you."

Lance looks at her, startled. Then he lowers his head, ashamed. "It wasn’t me," he says.

"It was you," she insists, her voice adamant. "He said he was lost and you were the light he needed to find his way back."

Lance shakes his head. He takes Chris’ other hand and presses it his forehead. "I couldn’t protect him," he whispers, an unvoiced apology. "I didn’t keep him safe."

Beverly strokes his hair. "He’s just lost," she says, gently. "He’ll find his way back again. He knows what to look for now. I told you, my son could wrestle the devil himself and win."

Lance doesn’t have the heart to tell her that  Chris was dealing with something worse than the devil, and that he wasn’t even sure Chris wanted to fight.

"You’ll see," Beverly says, again. "My son will come back."

 

 

Despite her resolution, Beverly falls asleep on the hospital couch. Lance stays awake, clasping Chris’ hand tightly between his own. He’s given up trying to talk to Lily and now pleads directly to Chris. "Baby, please. You heard your Mom, we’re both going to be in so much trouble if you don’t come back." His attempt at levity falls flat. Chris’ face stays completely still. "Please, Chris. Please. Don’t go with her. Stay with me. Stay with me. I can’t lose you, please. I need you."

He hears a sound, bell-like, and he panics for a moment, thinking it had been one of the machines attached to Chris, monitoring his condition. Then it dawns on him, and a memory of Chris holding him in his arms, a late-night conversation, flashes through his head.

Elevators.

Why didn't he think of it sooner?

He works fast, faster than he ever thought he could. By the time Beverly wakes up and a nurse responds to the protest of the machines being yanked off their attachments, he and Chris are gone.

 

 

The voices coming from the elevator speakers think he’s crazy. "Lance, Lance, what the hell are you doing?" Johnny demands.

It's a stupid question, Lance thinks. It should be fairly obvious to everyone what he's doing.

He wants to scream back _Lily’s afraid of elevators!_ but he realizes that will only make him sound crazier. So he ignores them, and continues to grip Chris’ hand tightly. They’ll be okay. The elevator is ventilated and Chris still has his IV. It’s all a matter of standing your ground, Sita said. A hospital elevator isn't a very glamorous place to take a stand, hold his ground, but Lance will take his shot and he can outlast anyone in pure stubbornness.

They’ve called 911 but Lance knows help won’t arrive till morning. He uses his Swiss Army knife to pry open the control panel and rips out the wires connected to the speakers, cutting off the voices from the outside world.

 

 

He’s been awake for most of three days and it’s dark, silent and cold in the elevator. Still he holds on, drifting off only to be startled awake each time his grip on Chris’ hand starts to loosen.

Once, he thinks he hears a dog barking, but soon realizes it is only his imagination, the edges of a dream.

He starts when a harsh ringing begins. He panics, thinking for a moment, that the firemen or the elevator repairman had come after all, but realizes a moment later that his celphone is ringing.

"Dude, answer your phone." The voice sounds cranky, the victim of a rude awakening.

Lance almost drops the phone. "Chris? Chris! You're awake?"

"What time is it?" There's hardly any light, but Lance can see Chris blink. "Hey, this isn’t my bed. Dude, these aren’t handcuffs, are they?"

At that moment, the elevator doors open. Sunlight floods in.

Morning.

Beverly enters the elevator, starts crying as soon as she sees Chris.

"Mom? Hey, the hell? Where am I? Lance?"

Lance feels like laughing and weeping at once. He lets Beverly and the doctors take Chris away, following, knowing that Chris is okay, that he's going to be fine. Belatedly, he realizes that the phone in his hand is still ringing.

"Lance? Hey, it’s Ron. I can’t reach Chris. Do you know where he is?"

"Busta," Lance demands. "Have you found Busta?"

Lance hears the barking again, and this time he’s sure it’s not just his imagination. He turns around, and Busta is in front of him. His first thought is that Busta found his way back to Chris, walking all the way from Florida. He realizes the impossibility of that idea at the same moment he hears Ron say, "Lance, yeah, we found him. He... He’s dead, Lance. I don’t know what happened. He didn’t even go very far. We found him a couple of blocks away. There’s not even a mark on him."

Busta barks at Lance, once, then turns around and barks at something behind him. As if on cue, Lily suddenly appears. Lance takes an instinctive step back, but Lily is smiling. She opens her arms and Busta runs into them. As tiny as Busta is, she's too small to carry him, so she settles for hugging. Then she starts to walk away, and Busta follows after her.

"Wait!" Lance shouts.

They stop, look back at him together. Lily gives a little wave and Busta barks at him. They continue on. They disappear together.

Ron is still on the phone and has started crying. "Dude, what am I going to tell Chris?"

 

 

Beverly makes the other visitors leave Chris to rest, but insists that Lance stay. She hugs him so tightly that he can’t breathe, whispers a fierce ‘thank you’ in his ear before turning to leave herself.

Chris looks like himself, slightly weak and befuddled, but his eyes brighten at seeing Lance.

"Hey, baby," Lance says, climbing into bed with Chris. "How are you?"

Chris wraps his arms around Lance and Lance has to close his eyes against the tears. _Thank you, God._

"I had the strangest dream," Chris says.

"Let me guess," Lance teases. "We were naked. On a Ferris wheel."

Chris’s returning grin is weak but wicked. Then he shakes his head. "It was that girl again," he says. "Lily. And Busta..."

"Busta?" Lance asks.

"She had Busta with her. They were playing together. They looked happy. She said not to worry, that they were going to be alright. And that I was going to be, too."

It's true then, Lance thinks. What he saw from the elevator. He didn't imagine it.

Lance has read a thousand stories about pets saving their masters from harm, sometimes giving their lives in return. He has no doubt that that was what had happened here.

Lance remembers Sita’s words: _She wants what every child wants. To be loved. To be protected. To not be alone._

_Keep him close. Animals have a better grasp of these things than most humans._

Chris is safe.

And Lily is no longer alone.

_Thank you, Busta._

Chris is quiet, pensive. Finally, he sighs. "I’m going to miss him," he says, gruffly. "He was a good puppy."

Lance is momentarily surprised that Chris already knows. But, he decides, they can talk about it tomorrow. For now he's just grateful that, thanks to Busta, they have tomorrows to spare.

"Yeah," he says, holding on to Chris tighter. "He was the best puppy in the entire world.”

 

 

 

 

© JCSA 2005


End file.
